~*~ Rose-Colored Glosses ~*~

hovering between the quest for absolute truth and the pursuit of utter nonsense
 
gloss, n.
  1. A brief explanatory note usually inserted in the margin or between lines of a text.
  2. An extensive commentary, often accompanying a text or publication.
  3. A purposefully misleading interpretation or explanation.
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* Quotes *
"The limits of my language means the limits of my world."
-Ludwig Wittgenstein
"An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it."
-Mahatma Gandhi
Segal's Law:
A man with a watch knows what time it is. A man with two watches is never sure.
"Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water! And East is East and West is West and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste more like prunes than a rhubarb does. Now, uh... Now you tell me what you know."
-Groucho Marx

~ Monday, September 12, 2005 ~

Screaming Beacons
I didn't know about the beacons. Everyone who's been living here must have seen them every year since 2002, but I only discovered them tonight, as I walked westward on my way home. It was around 11:30 pm and I saw a searchlight to the west, a bit fuzzy and indistinct, but streaming straight upward. I had my guesses, but a quick call to Rob confirmed my suspicions: it's a 9/11 memorial, two search lights (though they looked like one from my angle) shining up from where the twin towers stood. There was a guy sitting on his front steps and gazing out at them contemplatively while he smoked a cigarette, and I found the mood was contagious. I kept walking north and west toward the beacons, right past my apartment and on toward 5th ave, and then 4th, drifting around in search of a point where I could gaze at them without the intrusive halogen streetlamps dimming their announcement. I wanted to see them pop out against the night sky, searing blue-white against clouded velvet, but there were too many visual distractions between us for them to hit me at full strength. I was sure they'd be extinguished at midnight, and was at least hoping to see them as they winked out (and, if I was quick enough, to catch the ripple of darkness that would ascend from the horizon up to the stars as they did) but midnight came and passed, and then it was 12:03, and then 12:05 and they were still shouting upward, and no sign of needing to pause for breath. I turned around and walked back home, glancing at them occasionally over my shoulder. They were following me, just as the moon follows nighttime travellers. I can see them out my window as I type this, and I like to imagine them as candles, keeping watch over the city until dawn in solemn vigil.

~ prattled by Miriam at 12:36 a.m. [+]

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Comments:
What a beautiful and heartfelt description. It does what all fine writing should do: it brings the reader to you, shows him what you see, and allows him to feel what you are feeling.
ahah! I tracked down this "blog" thing.. the combination of not getting an expeditious email response (dammit) and the new google blog searcher has resulted in a brand new blog stalker! fantastic eh? The memorial sounds touching, I look forward to seeing it next time I am in the city. ttyl
You're not the only one who doesn't get expeditious email responses, Johnny boy! ;)
You always do seem to find an adventure at every corner. I miss our conversations, still, its good to know your alive out there.
Geez, Miriam, you'd think that, of all the people in the world, a bot'd actually know how to spell...

I, of course, didn't click on that, but anyone who does happen to see it and think about doing it, please don't. It would just cause you problems that you'd be so much happier without! :)

You may feel free to delete this when you delete that one, Miriam, that way I don't look like I'm talking to myself later! ;)
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